


The Hellmouth Ain’t No Place to Start a Family

by Spikedluv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A powerful artifact is stolen from Watcher’s Council Headquarters in London and Willow calls on Spike and Xander for help retrieving it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hellmouth Ain’t No Place to Start a Family

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Chosen; post-Jus in Bello. Written for spring_with_xan. Title stolen from Journey, sorta.
> 
> Written: April 28, 2008/May 3, 2008

_London, England_

Willow rolled over in bed, hand reaching out, seeking the warmth of the body she’d fallen asleep next to. All she encountered was empty space, the sheet cold beneath her palm. She blinked sleepily, clearing the haze from her eyes, and called out softly. When there was no answer she sat up and reached for the light.

It took longer than it should have for her brain to come online, for her to realize that she was alone in the room, that the clothes she’d removed from the lovely brunette she’d picked up at the pub, and strewn across the floor like bread crumbs marking their trail from door to bed, were missing. If not for the single strand of long dark hair on the pillow beside her, and the twinge in her thighs, Willow might have thought she’d dreamt the encounter.

She was disappointed that Bela had crept out while she was asleep. It wasn’t as if she’d expected a second date (or even a first), but breakfast would have been nice. She turned off the light and closed her eyes, determined to forget the beautiful Bela and the fact that she’d snuck out of the room like a thief in the night, as if Willow might have caused a scene . . . .

Willow sighed heavily. She should have known better; she had zero luck with brunettes. She rolled over and punched her pillow into submission, but before she could resettle herself, her cell rang. Willow swore and reached out blindly, sweeping her fingers across the bedside table in search of the phone until she finally remembered leaving it in her pocket when they’d hurriedly undressed each other.

She tripped over her sneakers in the dark and was sorely tempted to whip up a ball of light. When she finally found her jeans and dug her cell out of the pocket, she was annoyed and frustrated. Nothing had gone right since she’d woken up alone. Seeing Andrew’s name on the display only exacerbated that. She flipped the phone open and growled, “What?”

Andrew spoke quickly without pausing for breath, his apology for calling so late (or early) smooshed in with the reason he was calling. Willow was only able to make out a few words; no sign of a break-in, and vault and missing.

Willow’s blood ran cold and she made Andrew repeat it all, very, very slowly. And then she made him repeat it again as she searched for and found her keys on the dresser, right next to a picture of her, Buffy and Xander. She went through every single key, then went through them again. The key to the Watcher’s Council Headquarters was missing. She dug her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans. Also missing was the swipe card that allowed her admittance into the basement where they kept the really cool things. The really powerful and deadly things.

“Oh . . . _fudge_!”

Andrew’s silence was suddenly louder in her ear than his talking had been.

“I’ll call you right back.”

Willow thumbed off the phone and tossed it onto the bed as she stormed over and very carefully plucked the long dark strand of hair off the pillow. She couldn’t believe she’d been so thoroughly duped by the woman! “Let’s see where you’ve got to, Bela Talbot.”

Ten minutes later, the detritus from the locator spell spilled around her, Willow ordered Andrew and his posse of baby slayers to Heathrow to see if they could catch Bela before she left the country. Willow gave up on trying to get any more rest. She cleared away the evidence of the spell, took a shower and got dressed. With nothing else to occupy her time she went down to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and start breakfast.

Andrew called two hours later to break the news that they’d missed her at Heathrow, but that the flight she’d been on was destined for LaGuardia. Willow told him to have operatives there to meet her when she got off the plane. Four hours later Willow did another locator spell just to make sure that she’d actually been on the flight and was reassured to find her life sign somewhere over the Atlantic.

Willow was in the middle of discussing additional security measures with Giles and Andrew when they got the call that their operatives had been unable to detain her at LaGuardia.

*~*~*

  
 _24 hours earlier  
Somewhere in Cleveland, OH_

Spike both loved and hated Cleveland. The hellmouth offered many and varied opportunities to get bloodied, but because of the spell Willow had performed in an attempt to defeat the First Evil, there were too many baby slayers trying to hog all the fun. Tonight he and Xander were trying to pin down the rumors of a gaggle of Grolich headed for the hellmouth, instead of searching out a spot of violence.

Grolich were normally reclusive, so they needed to figure out if they were taking a long overdue vacation, or if this was the demonic equivalent of a religious pilgrimage that might involve the possibility of carnage. Spike knew which he was hoping for. He bounced on his toes, opened and closed his fists. A little fighting followed by a whole lot of fucking wouldn’t go amiss.

“Spike,” Xander called softly.

“What?”

“You’re scaring him.”

Xander’s informant was a sniveling little weasel. Literally. Pointed little ears with tufts of hair sticking out of them, long nose, sharp, pointy teeth, and slim fingers that tapered to razor-like claws.

“Scaring him? I haven’t even threatened to break his bloody neck and drain him dry, yet.” Spike gave Chuck the weasel a wide, toothy grin.

Chuck made a high-pitched whine and took a hasty, stumbling step backwards.

Xander rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should wait for me over there.” He made a vague gesture somewhere away from him and the little weasel.

Spike crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Xander. “Don’t think so, pet.”

The weasel might be a timid creature, and Xander could take care of himself -- Spike had made sure of that -- but there was no way he was going to leave them alone together. Chuck might be good for gaining intel, but Spike still didn’t trust him.

Xander shook his head, placed himself between the weasel and Spike’s aggressive stance, and continued their low-voiced conversation.

Keeping one eye on Xander, Spike let his senses wander, making sure they were still alone in their little corner of the cemetery, not that Chuck wasn’t setting them up for an ambush. Five minutes of whispering later, Xander handed over the broken toaster as payment for the info -- the weasel was part scavenger -- and strode over to Spike’s side after Chuck had scurried off into the night.

“Well?”

“Our problems are bigger than a gaggle of Grolich,” Xander announced.

“Yeah?” Spike couldn’t keep the anticipation out of his voice.

Xander elbowed him in the side. “Don’t sound so excited.”

“Maybe I’ll finally be able to get my hands dirty.” Spike rubbed said hands together.

“No worries there. Apparently the hellmouth will play host to a very important wedding.”

Spike paused in his mental Scooby dance. “Wedding?”

“Evidently a not to be missed occasion.”

But . . . . “A wedding?” Spike repeated.

“The prospective groom has to fight for the right to join with the clan -- make sure he’s demon enough, I guess. An event like this only happens once every hundred years, or so, so it’s a really big deal.”

“A wedding on the hellmouth?”

“Can’t get over that part, huh?” Xander smiled at him, then turned serious again. “A _big_ wedding with a large guest list.”

“How large?”

Xander stopped walking. “Very large.” He raised his chin and Spike followed the gesture with his eyes until they alighted on a dozen vamps blocking their way.

“Any requirements to earn an invite to this shindig?”

“Shindig?”

“Party, dance . . . gathering.”

“I know what a shindig is, I just can’t believe you used it in a sentence. And Chuck didn’t say.”

Spike approached the group of vamps, ignoring Xander’s hissed, “What the hell are you doing?”

“S’pose you folks’re here for the big wedding.”

“Yeah,” the vamp in the lead finally answered after giving Spike a once over. “You?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. You fellas from around here?”

“Nah, we’re from St. Louis, by way of the Sunnydale hellmouth.”

Spike raised one eyebrow. “That right?”

The vamp speaking for the group actually preened a little bit. “Yeah. Matter of fact, I was there the day Sunnydale became a crater.”

Spike didn’t bother trying to hide his disdain. “I heard the slayer kicked ass that day. You were there, you’d be at the bottom of that crater. ‘Less you ran.”

“You calling me a coward?”

Spike shrugged. “Calling you a liar.”

“Uh, Spike.”

The snarling vamp swung its attention to Xander. “Who’s this?”

“Mine,” Spike growled.

The vamp sniffed. “Smells good.”

The other vamps agreed.

Spike felt Xander shift into a fighting stance beside him, but he just said, “I don’t share.” Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, “But I know where you can get some tasty morsels. Sweet young things. Softball game under the lights.”

The vamp shook its head, Xander apparently forgotten. “Humans. Don’t they ever learn?”

“They live in a state of perpetual denial,” Spike agreed.

“Well, better for us, I guess.” The vamp rubbed its hands together. “So, where can we find this softball game?”

“Let us show you.” Arm thrown over Xander’s shoulders, Spike led the vamps to the park. Xander was relaxed under his arm, but Spike knew he was ready for Spike to give the word.

As they crossed the park to the softball field where the game was in progress, Spike could practically hear the vamps salivating at the prospect of all those young girls. Spike’s eyes were trained on one of the women standing on the sideline. Her head came up and her shoulders went rigid. At the same time, the baby slayers, who’d been divided into two teams for a night of relaxation and recreation, turned as one.

“Hey,” the vamp said, finally realizing that something was wrong as he sensed over a dozen slayers, “what’s going on?”

“Oops,” Spike said, then pulled his hand from his pocket and drove the stake he’d retrieved into the vamp’s chest.

As dust rained down around them, Xander whirled to his right and took out the vamp nearest him while Spike staked a second. By then they were surrounded by the baby slayers and a pissed off Faith. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, and over in minutes.

While the girls whooped and hollered from the adrenaline rush, Faith jammed her pointy little finger in Spike’s chest. “What the hell were you thinking, bringing them here? The girls were supposed to have a night off.”

Spike ignored the finger. “They’re slayers, living on the hellmouth, they’ll never have a day off. They need to be on their toes, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. ‘Sides,” Spike drawled, grinning, “it was fun.”

*~*~*

  
Xander stood off to the side; he knew better than to get between Spike and Faith on a good day, much less when they were going at each other. Spike complained that all the baby slayers guarding the hellmouth, cutting their teeth on the demons it drew in, cramped his style, but Xander knew he’d miss his ‘discussions’ with Faith.

Xander left them to it and went to check on the girls, making sure that none of them had been hurt, then got them back on the field. If left to their own devices, they’d stand there and listen to Spike and Faith arguing, jaws hanging open at all the new words they were learning.

When Faith had stormed off, back to her spot on the sideline, Xander walked back over to Spike.

Spike looked him over. “You all right?”

Xander quirked his eyebrows. Spike would’ve been on him like white on rice at the slightest scent of spilled blood, yet he still asked. Every time. “Fine,” Xander said.

Spike draped his arm around Xander’s shoulders. “Lets go find us some demons to kill.”

“I’m surprised you gave those away.”

Spike snorted. “They were pathetic. I mean some _real_ demons. With this Grolich thing, there’s probably a lot of nasties visiting the hellmouth.” He sounded disturbingly excited about that prospect.

“We should be seeing what we can find out about the gathering.”

Spike shrugged with equanimity. “So, you can question ‘em before I kill ‘em.”

*~*~*

  
Xander woke late the next day, the afternoon sunlight drawing him out of slumber while it dragged Spike deeper. He took a shower and pulled on a pair of sweat pants, then made himself a bowl of cereal and sat in front of his laptop to research Grolich weddings.

The irony of having to do his own research wasn’t lost on Xander. He and Spike had a suite of rooms at the Cleveland campus of the Watcher’s Council Finishing School for Girls, or as Spike called it, Slayer Central. They also helped to train the girls and went on patrol with them, but given their numbers, he and Spike were almost superfluous.

A lot of the time, Xander found himself researching the nasties they’d be sending the young slayers out to hunt. His equipment included a laptop loaded with the latest edition of the Demon Database, an IM program that linked directly to WCHQ, thanks to Andrew, and a fully stocked library which was accessible through the connecting door in their living room.

The library had several large conference tables where Xander could spread out the books and notepads, but he did most of his research in their apartment after the time he and Spike were caught researching more than demons. Sadly, the squeal of surprise hadn’t been enough to quash Xander’s . . . ardor then, but the next time he’d entered the library to do some research, his balls had kept trying to climb inside his body and hide. That day he requisitioned a small desk for their apartment.

Yesterday, before he and Spike had headed out, Xander had done some preliminary research on the Grolich, but because they were so reclusive, there had been very little information on them. Xander was going to see if he could find anything further, now that he knew about the wedding.

Two hours of typing in searches and taking notes later, Xander stood and stretched. He’d traded his cereal bowl for a bottle of water, which he’d emptied. He tossed the empty bottle into the trash and got another, drank half of it in one go. Xander didn’t understand it, but research often left him more dehydrated than taking out a nest of vamps.

Xander wandered over to the bedroom where Spike was sprawled across the bed, sheets kicked down to his ass. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, let his eyes travel over Spike’s lean frame. Looking at him lying there, still and silent, it was difficult to believe the energy coiled within the slim body.

Energy that revealed itself in Spike’s version of fight or flight, which was fight or fuck. Or fight _and_ fuck, like last night when Spike had “questioned” a Krueller, a Deerj, and a pair of Quinnels before dragging Xander down a dark alley and fucking him senseless.

The memory of Spike’s hands sliding over Xander’s body as he pounded into him curled low in Xander’s belly. He walked over to the bed, set the water bottle on the night stand, and pushed his sweats down. Naked, Xander climbed onto the bed and straddled Spike’s hips. He leant down and kissed the back of Spike’s neck.

Spike shifted beneath Xander, made waking up noises as Xander kissed a path down his back. “Mmm, got a headache,” Spike mumbled.

“I could help you with that,” Xander said, lifting up to make room between his thighs for Spike to roll over. He settled himself back down on Spike’s ‘morning’ wood, wiggled his ass. “Oh, yeah, I bet that does hurt.”

*~*~*

  
Xander was on his knees with Spike’s cock up his ass when Willow popped into his head.

Xander’s eyes shot open. “Oh my god!”

Spike twisted his hips when he was buried as deep as he could get inside Xander. “Fantastic, isn’t it?”

“Willow, get out of my head!”

Spike growled, but he didn’t stop thrusting into Xander. “Oh, you have got to be bloody kidding me!”

“Willow, this is so not a good time!”

Willow squealed inside his head and mentally covered her eyes. _Sorry, sorry, I need to talk to you, it’s very important, I wouldn’t have . . . ._

Despite the way Spike was pounding into him, Xander managed to say, “Give me five minutes to get, oh god, cleaned up and I’ll call you.”

 _Okay, sorry,_ Willow said, and popped out again.

Xander shook his head to clear away the odd sensation of having another presence in there.

“She gone?”

“Yeah, but . . . .”

“Good, hold on.” Spike tightened his grip on Xander’s hips and adjusted his angle before pushing in again.

Xander moaned and gasped, “We’ve only got . . . .”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Spike said, and reached beneath Xander, fisting his cock (which had surprisingly remained hard despite Willow’s unexpected intrusion) as he drove into him.

*~*~*

  
It was closer to fifteen minutes later when Xander set up the web cam and contacted Willow. They’d cleaned up and both wore a pair of sweat pants, but nothing could disguise the look of the well-fucked that Xander knew they must both wear. It was affirmed when Willow took one look at them both and blushed.

“I’m so sorry, you guys. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

Willow and Xander both blushed at that. Spike just sprawled in his chair and smirked. “So, what’s so important you had to interrupt a private moment?”

Despite the flush staining her skin, Willow turned all business. “Someone broke into the Watcher’s Council Headquarters and stole the scythe.”

Spike leaned forward. “You mean that doohickey Buffy used to defeat the First?”

Willow nodded. “Yes, that very powerful doohickey.”

“Any idea what they want with it?” Xander asked, absently picking up a pen and drawing a pad of paper closer in case he needed to take notes.

“No, but I know where she’s taking it.” Willow paused. “She’s on her way to Cleveland.”

“Brilliant,” Spike said. “Just what we need, a powerful artifact on the hellmouth.” He shoved himself out of the chair and started pacing the living room.

“How do you know she’s bringing it here?” Xander asked.

“I’ve been keeping track of her with a locator spell.”

“How the hell did she manage to break into the Watcher’s Council HQ, anyway?” Spike muttered.

From the expression on Willow’s face, Xander knew that she was blaming herself. “She stole my key. And my swipe card.” Willow told them how one Bela Talbot had managed to get her hands on those items, then said, “So you can see why I’m eager to have her found and the scythe returned.”

“We’ll find her,” Xander assured Willow, though he had no idea how they’d go about it.

Spike stood behind Xander, hands on his hips. “What do we do about the girl?”

“I want her back, as well.”

Xander could feel Spike’s eyebrow quirk; his own rose a little bit at the wording.

“For questioning,” Willow clarified.

“I don’t suppose you thought to put some sort of tracking device or spell on the bloody thing,” Spike asked.

“No, but I have e-mailed you the information we have on Bela. Let me know as soon as you find her. Xander, thank you,” Willow said, and then she was gone.

Xander checked his e-mail and printed off the photo of Bela that Willow had attached.

“No wonder she turned Willow’s head,” Spike said.

“The question is,” Xander said, “what does she have planned for the scythe?”

Spike sounded distracted as he studied the photo. “A ritual, maybe? That or she’s fencing it.”

“Or a gift? Think it’s any coincidence she’s showing up here the same time as the Grolich convention?”

*~*~*

  
 _Somewhere outside of Topeka, KS_

Dean had twisted his ankle, Sam had a gash in his forearm, and they were covered in mud. They both stripped out of their clothes just inside the door to their motel room.

“First dibs on the shower,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head and watched Dean’s ass as he limped across the worn rug to the bathroom. He found a plastic garbage bag and stuffed the muddied clothes inside while the shower heated up, then joined Dean in the tub. Despite the chipped porcelain and the iron stains, the water pressure was heavenly.

“Man, I called dibs,” Dean whined.

Sam lathered the small bar of soap between his hands, then soaped up Dean’s shoulders and back. “Shut up. How’s your ankle?”

“I’ll live,” which was Dean-speak for _hurts like a bitch_.

“I’ll wrap it after,” Sam said, “and get some ice for it.”

“If the ice machine’s working,” Dean said as Sam turned him and started on his chest. His eyes dropped to the cut on Sam’s arm. “How’s your arm?”

Sam glanced down. “Stings a bit,” he admitted.

Dean pressed the tip of one finger against the edge of the cut and Sam flinched. “Ow!”

“Yeah, just a bit,” Dean scoffed, then leaned in for a closer look in the dim light. “It’ll probably need stitches. Damn stupid ghosts.”

Typically, Sam’s injury pissed Dean off more than his own, but Sam agreed with the sentiment. They should have known better, but given the legends surrounding this particular haunting, they’d expected this to be an easy hunt. The ghost, however, had other ideas. It had thrown a picture frame at Sam’s head, which he’d deflected with his arm, then pushed Dean down the basement stairs before they’d managed to hit it with the rock salt.

Since the basement was where they needed to be anyway, to salt and burn the bones, they started digging in the dirt floor. They hadn’t expected the second set of remains, or the second ghost, at all. Before they’d managed to complete their salt and burn, the ghost had broken an old water pipe and then charged them. Sam and Dean threw themselves away from it, and landed in the mud.

Dean distracted the ghost while Sam completed the salt and burn. “Think that’s it?” Dean asked when the ghost blinked out of existence. “I hope so,” Sam said, as they scraped mud off their skin.

Now, Sam reached out and brushed his fingers against Dean’s temple. “You’ve still got mud in your hair.”

“Look who’s talking,” Dean said. He pushed his fingers into Sam’s hair, used the hold to pull him in for a kiss that said _I’m glad you’re all right._

Any adrenaline rush they might have experienced from the hunt had dissipated in the wake of wet, muddy clothes and the ache of their respective minor injuries, but now they were wet and naked, and the slick glide of their bodies was at once familiar and arousing, and Sam had never been able to resist one of Dean’s kisses.

*~*~*

  
“Ow, not so tight, Sammy! Are you trying to cut off my circulation?”

“Yes, Dean, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Sam said, shaking his head.

Sam could tell from the way Dean’s lips had thinned that he’d lost his sexed out blissful feeling while stitching up Sam’s arm. The cut was small, and not really that deep, but Dean blamed himself for any injury Sam received, however slight. It didn’t help that this hunt had brought them so close to Lawrence.

Sam helped Dean slide back on the bed and recline against the pillows, then placed a pillow under his foot and gently laid the bag of ice over his ankle. Sam slid onto the bed next to Dean and, despite his stiff posture, curled up next to him.

It took a few minutes, but Dean slowly relaxed. “I hate this,” he whispered.

“I know,” Sam said. He didn’t know exactly which ‘this’ Dean was talking about -- being so close to home, Sam getting hurt, or something that resided deep inside Dean’s brain that he’d never talk about -- but it didn’t matter, Sam did know. “We’ll be fine,” he said, the only promise he could make, because it was the only thing he could do anything about.

When Sam woke up the next morning, Dean was still sleeping. He relieved himself and washed up at the sink, then left a note for Dean and went out for coffee, carrying his laptop and dragging their dirty laundry with him. After loading the washing machines, Sam walked to the Dunkin’ Donuts down the street, ordered two coffees, a couple breakfast sandwiches, and a couple donuts. After last night, he was hungry, and he expected that Dean would be as well.

He’d just put the laundry into the dryers when Dean stumbled in. “Coffee?”

Sam held out the cup of luke-warm coffee and Dean drank from it as if it were the elixir of life. When Sam held out the bag that still contained one sandwich and one donut, Dean said, “I could kiss you, Sammy.”

“Tell you what,” Sam said as he tapped at the keys on his laptop, searching for their next hunt, “you can fold.”

They packed their bags, cleaned their weapons, packed everything back into the car, then checked out and went for lunch. Sam still hadn’t found their next job, but neither of them wanted to stay in Kansas, so they were just going to get in the Impala and start driving. During lunch, Sam got a text from Bobby.

 _Rumor; Bela; Cleveland. Good luck. B._

Instead of South, they headed East for the thirteen hour drive to Cleveland.

*~*~*

  


 _Back in Cleveland_

Xander made copies of the photo and distributed them to Faith and the baby slayers so they could keep an eye out for Bela while they were on patrol. (Willow’d texted Xander that Bela had reached the city, but without a street map of Cleveland she couldn’t pinpoint her location with any more accuracy than that. Xander had instructed Sheila, the Cleveland branch’s version of Andrew, to overnight a city map to Willow, just in case another fugitive Willow was tracking headed to Cleveland in the future.)

They didn’t know exactly where Bela was headed, but they surmised that, given the magical qualities of the item she’d stolen, she’d end up closer to the hellmouth than not. They’d also be on the lookout for her car, a silver Mercedes convertible that she’d claimed from long term parking at La Guardia. Xander and Spike were going to continue their quest for information on the Grolich and the upcoming nuptials while they showed around the photo of Bela. Hopefully someone would recognize her or her vehicle.

“All right,” Xander said, “everyone knows what they have to do?”

Cleveland was much larger than Sunnydale had been, so it took all the slayers, sent out in groups of three or more, newer recruits paired with girls who’d been slaying for two years, to patrol, but necessity (and experience) forced them to pay more attention to the areas immediately surrounding the hellmouth.

“Yes,” the girls chorused.

Xander pointed at them. “Okay, make it so.”

They all groaned as one, Faith the loudest.

Xander tucked his copy of Bela’s photo into his jacket pocket. He made sure his Nextel was charged as he followed Spike into the weapons room, then stuck it on his belt. They loaded up, carrying more weaponry than usual due to the number of demons expected to attend the Grolich clan-joining ceremony.

“Why don’t we start down at The Dugout,” Xander suggested as he strapped on his wrist stake launcher. Everyone passed through The Dugout sooner or later, and while Oliver wasn’t as easy to bribe, or as forthcoming, as Chuck had been, he’d surely have heard about something as big as the Grolich wedding. And Spike would love the opportunity to encourage Ollie to talk.

The Dugout was located two blocks from the opening of the hellmouth, and got a lot of demon traffic, as well as the few humans who’d either run out of luck or had learned how to turn a profit by associating with demons. No one remembered how it came to be called The Dugout, given its distance from the Prog. It was a dive, the lighting so low that you couldn’t tell whether the sticky residue on the tables and floor was spilled beer, or spilled blood.

Ollie saw them come in and immediately began gesturing for them to leave. “No, no, no! Get out, get out! Listen, whenever you people come in here I lose business.”

Spike risked his duster and rested one elbow on the bar top, leaned in menacingly. “You don’t tell us what we want to know, you’re gonna lose more than business.”

The lowlifes -- both human and demon -- sitting at the bar took their drinks and moved away from them.

“I don’t know anything,” Ollie whined.

“You’d better hope that’s not true,” Xander said as he moved up to stand beside Spike.

Ollie’s glaze flitted to Xander’s eyepatch, then quickly away. Xander had yet to figure out what story Spike had told Ollie about how he’d earned that battle wound, but it never failed to freak Ollie out.

“The Grolich,” Xander said while Spike glared.

“Big happenings,” Ollie said, “that’s all I know.”

“We heard it’s a wedding,” Xander said. “A once in a lifetime event.”

Ollie nodded. “So what do you need me for?”

“Tell us about the fight,” Spike said.

“What fight?” The hitch in Ollie’s voice and the perspiration even Xander could see gave away the fact that Ollie knew more than he was telling.

“The groom has to prove his worth?” Xander prodded.

“Yeah, yeah, if he can best the bride, he gets to join his clan to hers.”

“The bride?” Spike said, then looked at Xander. That was unexpected.

“We’ve noticed some new faces in town.” Xander looked around the bar.

“Yeah, it’s been great for business,” Ollie declared.

“That’s great, but, shockingly, we’re actually more worried about the safety of the people who live around here.”

Ollie looked confused.

Spike said, “I think what Xander means is, what kind of body count should we expect from this gathering?”

“One, I guess, if the groom loses.”

Xander filed away the fact that it would be a fight to the death, the groom’s death, at least, and continued questioning Ollie. “No sweep to gather up humans for food, no minimum kills to get admitted . . . ?”

“Not that I know of,” Ollie said.

“You hear any different,” Xander said, “you give us a call.”

“Sure, sure,” Ollie lied, though he meant each word at the moment they fell from his lips.

“Oh.” Xander pulled Bela’s photo out and showed it to Ollie. “Recognize her?”

Ollie took the photo and stared at it. “Oh, yeah, sure, she’s the Finder.”

“The Finder?”

“Hell of a stupid name,” Spike muttered.

“Yeah, you need it, she can find it. For a fee, of course.”

Xander took the photo back. “Of course. Any idea who she’s working for now?”

Ollie went even more pale. “No.”

“You wouldn’t be lying to us, now, would you, Ollie?” Spike said.

Ollie trembled as he gave his head a frantic shake ‘no’.

Xander slid the photo back into his pocket and they left. On the sidewalk he said, “Wonder who, or what, scares Ollie more than you do?”

“I’m wondering what kind of bride can take her bridegroom in a fight,” Spike said.

“You would,” Xander said, then posited, “Maybe it’s just a ritual and the bride actually lets the groom win.”

“Wonder if this could start a clan war.” Spike bounced on his toes.

Xander sighed. “This night just keeps getting better and better.

“Where to next?” Spike said, automatically falling in on Xander’s left as they started down the sidewalk.

“We really need to cultivate some more informants,” Xander bemoaned.

“Would be easier if the slayer didn’t kill ‘em.”

“Faith said that was an accident.”

Spike snorted. “What, she tripped and accidentally chopped his head off?”

“The cutting the head off part wasn’t the accident, seeing him feeding and jumping to the conclusion that he was one of the bad guys, was.”

Spike made a noise of disgust. “If anyone should know about the seedy underbelly of human behavior, she should.”

They’d had this discussion before, but Xander played his part, anyway. “There was no way Faith could’ve known that Ricky had paid for the privilege of drinking that girl’s blood.”

“I’m just saying, we’re not going to be able to make a difference if we can’t get some of these demons to trust us.”

Xander waited one beat, two.

“And by ‘us’, of course, I mean ‘you’.”

Xander smiled. “Of course.”

They showed Bela’s photo at every hotel and motel within a ten block radius from the hellmouth, starting with those located nearest the opening and working their way out. Most humans instinctively steered clear of the area, except for those who had no choice or were forced to avoid the populated areas (there were a lot of homeless living on the very unsafe streets and drug deals going down on every street corner), but it was likely that the person (or thing) that had arranged for the theft was most comfortable there.

A dozen run-down hotels and rent by the hour motels later, and still no joy.

“She’s driving a Mercedes,” Xander said. “She wouldn’t be caught dead down here with that.” He paused. “No pun intended.”

“We don’t have time to check every motel in Cleveland,” Spike said.

Even if they could call every single motel and get an answer, which would certainly be quicker than visiting them all in person, it was unlikely that she’d registered under her own name, because that would just be too easy. They stood outside the park -- which Xander was sure had once upon a time been full of children and families and young lovers strolling hand in hand, but was now home to transients and drug dealers and pimps and the vampires that fed on them all -- and considered their very limited options.

“Spike,” a deep, gravelly voice growled, interrupting their ruminations. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Spike muttered. He turned to the demon and said, “Look, Everett, I don’t have time fo—.”

The demon punched Spike. “Make time. This time I’m upping the stakes. So to speak.”

Everett’s (His name wasn’t really Everett, it was Eevrrt, and Spike could pronounce the name in its original demon tongue, he just couldn’t resist pissing off a demon, and better yet if it was a head taller and weighed twice as much as he did.) deep chuckle sent chills skittering down Xander’s spine.

“When you lose, I’m keeping your pet.”

“I’m not his pet,” Xander snarled, kicking out at the knee of the demon attempting to grab hold of him. As he spun out of reach, and into the grasp of a second demon, Xander said, “Uh, Spike, don’t lose, ‘kay?”

*~*~*

  
They’d stopped twice to fill the tank, take a bathroom break, and hit the closest drive-thru before getting back on the highway. Sam had taken the first leg of the journey in deference to Dean’s ankle, but the closer they got to Cleveland the more Dean’s leg bounced with his need to be behind the wheel.

Twelve hours, one fitful nap and two leg cramps later they drove past the city limit sign. The Impala was old, but her engine was in pristine condition (as much as their funds allowed) and Dean had no problem coaxing her over the posted speed limit when he needed to. It was just past midnight and despite the time they’d spend discussing it, they had no idea what their first step should be.

“Where now?” Sam asked.

“You hear anything else from Bobby?”

“No.”

Once they were on the road, Dean had called Bobby to tell him they were heading to Cleveland and to see what else he knew, which turned out not to be much. He’d asked Bobby to call them if he learned anything further, but he hadn’t made contact.

“We can’t just drive around Cleveland looking for her.”

“You got any better ideas?”

Sam shrugged because, no, he really didn’t. “Maybe we can narrow it down if we can figure out why she’s here.” Off Dean’s look, Sam clarified, “Business or pleasure.”

Dean snorted. “Would _you_ come here for pleasure?”

“Not everyone rates a city on the number and quality of hunts available there, Dean.”

“But if they did we could make a killing -- no pun intended -- by publishing the definitive travel guide. Instead of stars we could use daggers.”

Sam frowned. “Five daggers?”

“And instead of those attraction and rest stop symbols, little ghost and vampire icons,” Dean continued.

Sam was just tired enough to find that hilarious. “Okay, okay,” he said when he stopped laughing, “we still need to figure out what Bela’s up to. So, business, then?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “but is she here to acquire, or to sell?”

“Well, I’ve checked out the webpages for all the museums located in Cleveland, including the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, ‘cause you know how rockers are, well, uh, anyway, and none of them appear to have anything on display that sounds like something Bela might want to ‘acquire’.”

“They have a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum here, really? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that.”

“Uhh, it didn’t seem relevant?”

“Rock and roll is _always_ relevant, Sammy. Anyway, back to Bela. She’d probably set herself up someplace nice. And then walk out on the bill.”

“So, what, you want to cruise the upscale hotels and look for her car?”

But Dean wasn’t even listening. “Hey, look over there.” Dean pointed and Sam turned his head to see what Dean was looking at.

“A fight; it’s not like we’re on the best end of town here,” Sam said, finally taking a good look at their surroundings.

“What was your first clue?” Dean said, still looking towards the fight. “But tell me, that big guy look human to you?”

*~*~*

  
“Get down!” someone bellowed.

Xander had been busy trying to break the hold Everett’s friends had on him and making sure that Spike wasn’t getting the crap beat out of him, and had missed the approach of the two human males, one of whom held a shotgun ready to fire.

Xander stopped struggling and called out, “Spike, drop!”

Spike didn’t hesitate. Mid-punch he jerked to a stop and dropped like a stone. The shotgun blast was loud in the sudden silence and Everett’s chest blossomed green, though in the poor lighting it looked black, then his face disappeared as a second blast rent the air. The demons holding Xander squealed in fear, pushed him away and took off running.

Spike bounded to his feet, wiping green droplets off his face. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving your life,” said shotgun guy, while the second male stood silent, observing.

Spike snarled. “Number one, I had things under control.”

Shotgun snorted and even due-for-a-haircut guy rolled his eyes.

“And secondly, are you _trying_ to bring attention to us?” Spike gestured towards the shotgun. “They probably didn’t hear that in Cincinnati.” He turned to Xander. “You all right, pet?”

“Yeah.” Nothing bruised but his pride, Xander thought. He’d climbed to his feet during Spike’s tirade and drew out his cell. He beeped the school and Sheila answered immediately. “We need a clean-up crew,” Xander said and gave her the address.

“Who the hell carries a shotgun, anyway?” Spike muttered.

“Hey,” Shotgun said, “at the chance of repeating myself, we saved your life!”

“Spike likes to play with them before he kills them,” Xander said before Spike could tear the guy’s head off.

“Play with them?” the up until then silent shaggy haired guy said, brow furrowed in disbelief.

He made Xander reach for his own locks, wondering if he was due for a haircut. Though given the way Spike liked to run his fingers through Xander’s hair, grab hold of it . . . Xander shook himself back to the present.

“So, are you guys hunters?” Shaggy asked.

“Hunters?” Xander said.

“Yeah.” Shaggy indicated the demon corpse. “Hunters.”

“Not what we call ourselves,” Spike said, wiping green blood off his duster and smearing it over Everett’s jerkin. “That what you are?” he asked, almost casually, but ruining it by the pointed look at the double-barreled shotgun. “Hunters?”

Shotgun gave Shaggy a warning glance. “We were just in the right place at the right time.”

“With a loaded shotgun handy. Convenient, that.”

“We’re actually here looking for someone,” Shaggy said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Maybe you can help us.”

“What makes you think that?” Xander asked.

“Well, because you’re familiar with . . . .” His eyes tracked over to Everett.

“Demons?”

“Yeah. What is that thing, anyway?”

“Kromag,” Spike said. “They’re violent creatures; nasty right hook, that one. And hold a grudge like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Who are you looking for?” Xander asked, bringing the conversation back round.

“Woman . . . .” Shaggy began.

“Skanky whore, more like,” Shotgun interjected.

Shaggy ignored him and continued. “. . . by the name of Bela Talbot.”

Xander came to attention at the sound of Bela’s name, and saw Spike do the same out of the corner of his eye.

“We don’t know where she is, only that she’s somewhere in Cleveland.”

“Friend of yours, is she?” Spike asked.

Shotgun snorted. “Bela only gives a rat’s ass about Bela. Trust me, she’s nobody’s friend.”

“Business associates, then?”

“What? No. She’s probably here meeting someone, and we need to know where she might do that,” Shaggy said.

“Maybe she’s here to meet you,” Xander suggested.

“Then we wouldn’t need you to tell us where to find her, now would we?” Shotgun scoffed.

Spike shrugged. “Got us there. What makes you think we can help you?”

“Well, because Bela is familiar with the, uh . . . .”

“Supernatural?” Xander guessed.

“Yeah. And since you’re also familiar with the supernatural, I thought maybe you’d know where Bela might meet someone who is . . . also familiar with the supernatural. That sounded much more coherent inside my head.”

“Assuming she’s here to meet someone,” Shotgun said.

Shaggy shrugged. “There is that. Or maybe you know if there’s something of value here in Cleveland -- in a museum or private collection -- that she might have been hired to, uh . . . .”

“Acquire?” Xander filled in.

“I’d have said ‘steal’,” Shotgun said.

Xander opened his mouth to tell them that they were also looking for Bela, but Spike put his hand on Xander’s shoulder.

“Why are you looking for her?”

Shotgun and Shaggy exchanged looks.

“Because she stole something from us.”

“And we _really_ need to get it back.”

“Hmm.”

Xander pulled the photo out of his pocket, just to confirm. “This her?”

Shotgun and Shaggy gave him a wary look. “Yeah. Why do you have that?”

“As it turns out, we’re looking for her, too.”

“Why?” Shotgun said, fingers tightening on the stock.

“‘Cause she stole something from us, too. Rumor has it she came here to unload it.”

“What did she steal from you?” Shaggy asked.

“A very big, very powerful, knife,” Spike said. “You?”

“A revolver,” Shotgun grudgingly admitted.

“Not your ordinary revolver, I’d wager.”

Shotgun looked uncomfortable with the subject, but before Xander could push him on it, an unmarked black van drove over the curb and stopped a couple yards away from their little group.

“Clean-up crew’s here,” Xander announced, not wanting Shotgun to do anything rash.

Four men and women tumbled from the van, one of them carrying a plastic blue tarp. They nodded in Spike and Xander’s direction, then proceeded to roll the demon in the tarp and cart it off to the back of the van. The demon would be taken to the incinerator (normally used to burn the huge amount of trash accumulated by twenty young girls and a dozen instructors and administrative staff on a daily basis) and disposed of.

Xander wondered why more demons couldn’t be as considerate as vamps, and just turn to dust.

Shotgun and Shaggy watched the clean up crew go silently about their task, and when the van had driven away, Shaggy said, “That was surreal. So, just how many people know about demons?”

“In Cleveland,” Spike asked, “or world-wide?”

At the expression on their faces, Xander decided to change the subject. “So, Bela’s buyer, what kind of person would he be?”

“Someone who knew about the, uh, special properties of the item stolen,” Shotgun said.

“Special being magical?”

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” Shaggy said.

Xander sighed. “Great. That’s what we were afraid of.” The scythe in the hands of someone who knew hot so use it -- who would _mis_ use it -- was too scary awful to contemplate.

Just then Willow popped into Xander’s head and squeed, _Got her!_

Xander jumped and cursed. “Damn it, Willow!”

 _Sorry, sorry,_ Willow said, _but I’ve got a location for you._

“How’d you do that?”

“Who’s he talking to?” Shotgun asked.

“Witch,” Spike said.

“Um, okay,” Shaggy said.

Shotgun rolled his eyes at Shaggy.

 _Andrew downloaded a street map of Cleveland. We had to print it off in sections and tape it together, but we were able to track her._

“Huh. Good thinking. So where is she?”

Willow gave him the address of Bela’s current location. _And she’s headed East._

“Of course she is.” He looked at Spike. “She’s about four blocks away from the, uh . . . .” He glanced at the two men, then figured, the hell with it. “. . . hellmouth.”

“Of course she is,” Spike parotted.

“What’s that?” Shotgun asked.

“Not good,” Xander said. “I’m Xander, by the way, and this is Spike, and we need to get moving.”

“Dean,” Shotgun said, “and my brother, Sam. I’ll drive.”

*~*~*

  
Willow stayed in Xander’s head, giving him updates as Bela’s position changed, and then remained stationary. Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the road just down from Bela’s last known position. Xander and Spike got out, and Xander told them to stay in the car until they’d made contact.

“Why?”

“Because she knows you two, she sees you it might scare her off.”

Without waiting for a response, Spike and Xander crossed the dirt to where Bela was waiting, one hand in her pocket, fingers more than likely curled around the grip of a pistol.

Xander smiled, did his best ‘harmless’ interpretation. “Bela?”

Bela looked them over. “Who are you?”

“That’s not important,” Xander said. “What’s important is that you have something that belongs to us.”

Bela sounded amused when she said, “Do I? And what would that be?”

“A very sharp, very nasty, and very big knife,” Spike said.

Bela withdrew the scythe from beneath her coat. “This little old thing? I believe it’s called a scythe.”

“How about you hand it over?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Xander said, as beside him Spike shifted and snarled at Bela.

By then Dean and Sam had moved to stand behind Bela to cut off her retreat and they were as startled by Spike’s change as Bela.

“Holy shit!” Dean said.

Bela quickly regained her composure and turned to face the two brothers. “Dean, Sam, it’s a pleasure to see you both again.”

“I’m afraid we can’t say the same,” Sam said.

“Why, we got something else you need to steal?” Dean asked.

“Dean.” Bela actually looked disappointed in him. “It was nothing personal.”

“It felt personal,” Dean growled, “when it almost got us killed!”

“But it didn’t,” Bela pointed out reasonably.

“I hate to interrupt,” Willow said. “Oh, wait, no I don’t.”

The only notice Xander had that Willow had appeared was the static electricity that played over his skin when the portal opened, making all his hair stand up. Dean didn’t have even that clue, and he swore and took a step back when Willow seemed to materialize out of thin air. Xander knew that if he were stupid enough to take his eye off Bela to turn and look at Willow, she’d appear otherwordly -- red hair tossed about her head, as if blown by a soft breeze, a shimmer surrounding her.

“Let me guess,” Sam said, “the witch?”

Bela managed to look bored, but Xander saw surprise and . . . relief?

“Bela,” Willow said softly, pouting, “you left without saying goodbye.”

“She does that a lot,” Sam muttered.

Willow’s voice turned hard. “And you took something that doesn’t belong to you. I’ll take it back now.”

“Actually, I’ll be taking it.”

Everyone turned to look at the newcomer except for Bela, who continued to stare intently at Willow.

“Ethan Rayne,” Xander said. They’d expected the buyer to show up, had counted on it, and knew that he’d probably be magically inclined, but they hadn’t anticipated that it would be Ethan Rayne.

“Well, if it isn’t Ripper’s little brats,” Ethan said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You mean in the unlikely vicinity of the hellmouth?” Spike said.

“Where you’re trying to get your hands on something you stole from us?”

“Well, when you put it like that . . . .”

Ethan snapped his fingers and Spike had just enough time to hiss, “Vampires,” in Xander’s direction when a dozen vamps melted out of the night.

“Just a little something to keep you occupied while we complete our transaction. Bela, dear?”

Bela moved as if she couldn’t control her own body, held out the scythe to Ethan.

Willow whipped up a ball of sunshine and tossed it at the nearest vamp that wasn’t Spike. Everyone’s eyes tracked the path of the light and watched the vamp it hit immediately burst into flame and then explode into ash.

“Jesus!” Dean swore.

When they looked back, Willow held the scythe in her outstretched hand.

“Get them!” Ethan commanded.

Xander and Spike took position at Willow’s back. Xander held his hands up as if he was trying to beg for his life. When the overconfident vamp got closer, Xander launched one of the stakes at his wrist. The vamp had a second to look astonished before dust rained down.

“What the hell are these things?”

“Vampires!” Xander said.

“Vampires?”

“I thought you two knew all about demons?” Spike said.

“We never met a vampire that . . . exploded like that.”

Xander grabbed two stakes from his pockets and tossed them to Dean. “Stake ‘em in the heart or cut off their heads.”

“That I can do,” Dean said, brandishing the machete he’d brought from the car. He passed off the stakes to Sam. “Aim for the heart.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Just then Xander heard the whoops that heralded the arrival of a dozen slayers. Within moments the vamps were surrounded and dusted.

“What took you guys so long?” Xander said.

“What just happened?” Dean asked.

“Little girls just kicked our butts at demon hunting,” Sam said.

Xander grimaced. “They really don’t like to be called little.”

“Or girls,” Faith added.

“Thanks, Faith,” Xander said.

“No problem. We done here?”

Everyone looked at Willow, who nodded.

Faith clapped her hands together and ordered the girls back on patrol. They were gone as quickly as they appeared.

“Now, Ethan,” Willow said, “Giles is really looking forward to seeing you again.”

While they’d been fighting, Willow had wrapped Ethan in some sort of magical web. Xander could see the strain of holding him on her face.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” Ethan said, and in a puff of smoke he was gone.

Willow sagged. “Damn it! I couldn’t hold him.”

Xander caught her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it just stung a little bit when he broke free. He’s really strong.”

“What are we gonna do about her?” Spike jerked his chin in Bela’s direction.

“Well, since you all rode in and saved the day like you were supposed to, I’ll just be on my way,” Bela said.

“I don’t think so,” Spike said, easily snatching the gun out of her hand before it had even cleared her pocket.

“Whoa!” Dean said. “Before you do anything, we need to find out what she did with the Colt.”

“The Colt?” Willow said. “You mean the actual . . . the Colt?”

“Yeah. You’ve heard of it?” Sam said.

“Read about it,” Willow said. She turned to Bela. “Well?”

“I can’t divulge my buyer, I’d never be trusted again.”

“Awww, that’s too bad,” Dean said. “I’d hate for the people you steal shit for not to trust you.”

“Despite what you might have heard, Dean, sarcasm is unbecoming.”

“Bite me, and tell me where the Colt is, you . . . .”

“Skanky whore?” Spike supplied, and Xander elbowed him in the side.

If looks could kill, the glare Bela leveled on Dean would have incinerated him.

“Give me that gun,” Dean demanded of Spike, and Xander wasn’t sure he didn’t mean it.

“I don’t think violence will be necessary,” Willow said.

“Oh, I think it’s very necessary!”

“We have an excellent interrogator on staff in London,” Willow said. “I’m sure he can make Bela talk.”

Spike gave Xander a ‘huh’ look, and Xander shrugged.

“Andrew can be merciless,” Willow said, and Xander nearly choked.

“Wow,” Xander said, “you’re gonna subject her to Andrew?”

“Only if she makes me,” Willow said, then turned to Dean and Sam. “I don’t suppose you have anything that I might be able to use to track the Colt?”

Both Dean and Sam looked back at Willow helplessly.

“You know, like a bullet that’s been inside the, uh, revolving thingy . . . .”

“The cylinder?”

“Yeah!”

“We couldn’t be sure which bullets have been loaded into the cylinder,” Dean said.

“Or anything else that’s come in close contact with the Colt, like the cloth you use to clean it?”

“How’s that gonna help?” Sam asked.

“There’s a transfer when two items come into contact; I can use the residue of the Colt to track it, like I used a piece of Bela’s hair to track her. If there’s been enough of a transfer,” she qualified.

“Well then, it looks like you don’t need me,” Bela said.

“Not so fast,” Spike said.

“You can’t honestly believe that we’re just going to let you go so you can steal something else?” Willow said.

“Well, you’re certainly not going to call the police,” Bela said, “and it’s not like you’re gonna lock me up yourself.”

When silence was her only response, Bela said, “You can’t be serious.”

“When you were in the basement pilfering our collection,” Willow said, gesturing with the scythe, “tell me, did you happen to notice the door to the dungeon?”

Bela started to look worried. “I practically left a trail of bread crumbs for you to follow, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Plus there’s the matter of that pesky spell you’re under.”

Bela deflated.

“Compulsion, isn’t it? Unless you want to keep it.”

Bela gritted her teeth. “No.”

Willow instructed Dean to get her what he could to help track the Colt. Dean ran over to the Impala and returned with the items she’d requested.

“We’ll be in touch.” Willow placed her free hand on Bela’s shoulder and they stepped through the portal that opened before them.

The four of them stared at the spot where the portal had winked out of existence just as silently and quickly as it had formed.

“What now?” Dean said.

“We wait,” Xander said.

“Wait?” Sam said. “What do we do while we wait?”

Dean clapped Sam on the back. “You mentioned the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.”

“That place is bloody brilliant,” Spike said. “‘S not punk, but . . . . Plus, we’ve got this really cool demon wedding thing happening in a day or so. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to kill something.”

“Awesome.”

Xander and Sam just looked at each other as Dean and Spike bonded.

“So, uh, what was that thing with his face?” Sam asked, pointing at Spike’s back as they followed them towards the Impala.

“Spike’s a vampire,” Xander said. “A vampire with a soul. A _good_ vampire.”

Spike swung around. “You take that back!”

“Or what?” Xander said.

Spike thought, then smiled. “Remember that thing I did last night?” He gave a little bump and grind of his hips that made Xander go all warm with the remembering of it. “You ever want that again, you’d better . . . .”

“Okay, okay, fine, I take it back,” Xander said. “You’re the big bad.”

“And don’t you forget it, pet.” Spike threw an arm over Xander’s shoulders and drew him close, kissed him long and deep enough to make Xander wish they were alone.

“So,” Sam said with a pretend cough, “this demon wedding thing, what’s that all about?”

Spike laughed, looked between Sam and Dean, then said, “Hmm.”

As he dragged Xander towards the car Xander heard Sam ask, “What did he mean by that?”

“Got no idea, Sammy,” Dean said, then did something that made Sam softly sigh his name.

The End


End file.
